Amanda, Jr., Sherry, Jerry, Grandma, and Grandpa in 1986
I got the call last night that my Grandpa isn’t expected to live more than a few hours—no more than a week–longer. This is my maternal Grandpa John born December 4, 1937. He was raised by his maternal grandparents, Daniel and Alice. At twenty-five, he married my fifteen year old Grandma, Shirley. This is 1962. He fought in the Korean War but a fire in Kentucky robbed him of his VA dues for his old age. Over the next 19 years he and Grandma would have four girls—two whom died shortly after birth–and two sons. They named their children Clara (my mom), Johnny, Jerry, Shirley (dead), Sherry, and Rebecca (dead and my namesake). They have thirteen grandchildren with an age range of twenty-one years.
Jr., Grandpa, Amanda in 1989
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He’s someone I don’t know very well. But he’s my grandpa and I absolutely hate that he no longer knows anyone is beside him. Aunt Sherry said Grandma is sitting next to his bed, holding his hand, and neither does she acknowledge the world. She stares at him, waiting and watching. This is their 47th year of life together and soon it will end.
My paternal grandparents in 1960. I’ve never seen thse photos prior to last night. They divorced before I was born in 1985 and therefore I only met my Grandma for about a week when I was four years old. I’m not sure when she died–late 90s to early 2000s?–but my Grandpa died on Thanksgiving in 2002. I wonder what sort of people they were. My brother is a VERY clear descendent of the Goodman male line. As for my grandma, if I squint and tilt my head a little I can see a bit of her in me. The nerd keeps passing through the generations. :-)
I scanned these photos in on my Canon CanoScanD1250U2F and color corrected them in Photoshop CS2.
The Blizzard struck while I was in the second grade at Black Mountain Primary. They dismissed class and we rode home on the bus with the Blizzard coming down hard. My brother and I were dropped off on the main road in Montreat. Keith was only in first grade with our respectative ages being six and seven years old. We trudged up the road then up the mountain where we lived. Mom was at home asleep with our baby sister, who was only four years old at the time.
After the Blizzard blew itself out, my brother and I volunteered to help dig cars out of the drifts in all our excitement. The shining moment for me was that I made a snow sculpture of my mom’s new boyfriend’s head. Mom complimented me and I thought that I would like to do some more sculpturing someday. The other was that my class submitted short pieces about the Blizzard which was published in the local newspaper, the Black Mountain News. I had a copy of it up until about ten years ago when it was lost while moving.
